Guest guest Report post Posted March 28, 2010 MIDST MAUVE tipped thorns, a perfumed lily grows. > Solomon, who with his Sage solemnity, > Wealth, wisdom and regal identity, > Was not arrayed like a single one of these. > There by his side, that Arum Lily glows, > Her scent is wafted on the breeze that shows > Earnest ones, the devotional way to go, > And gladden hearts, to set their souls at ease. > > That Lily amongst thorns is like the Sage, > Teaching enlightenment by his silent gaze, > Among the folk in this bewildered age, > He lights a fire settings woods of dreams ablaze. > So praise fair Lily gracing your thorny field, > She cries " enquire my child, surrender, yield! " Quote Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
